Wet dog
by Sheitan
Summary: Sleep-overs are kinda complicated when you are an orcish Warchief and a human Sorceress. Also, the plot is leaving the bedroom.


Author's note: Do not belong to me.

Another one-shot featuring Thrall as the Warchief and Jaina as the Sorceress. Not so PWP this time, and I swear there is a plot lurking in there somewhere.

* * *

The heavy door creaked open and revealed the Warchief, his face and massive torso and shoulders thrown into stark relief by the blazing braziers that lit the hallway.

Naked but for a wolf skin wrapped around his lower body, the Warchief just stared down the guard, who – although a well-grown example of his race – suddenly became aware that Thrall, son of Durotan, was of rather impressive proportions even when divested of his famed armor. And he looked – to state it lightly – pissed.

The guard's swagger deflated under the harsh, blue glare, but after several moments of silence, he managed to recall that he had good reason to disturb the rest of the supreme leader of the Horde.

"I'm sorry to wake you, my Lord. Another caravan has been attacked, but this time there is a survivor."

The Warchief took a deep breath and briefly closed his eyes.

"What has been done?" he said brusquely. The guard straightened, eager to make a good impression.

"Captain Nazgrel has him under surveillance in the Raiders' Infirmary. He told me to come straight to you, my Lord Warchief," the guard replied, pride at being chosen to deliver the important message sneaking into his voice.

"He better," the Warchief growled. "Tell Nazgrel that – " he hesitated, his expression going oddly distant for a moment, and then he tensed, his teeth grinding together with such force that the guard swore he saw sparks fly.

"Tell Nazgrel I'll be there right away." He turned abruptly and retreated into the darkened chamber, slamming the door in the guard's face.

* * *

Thrall slammed the door shut with a feeling of utter frustration. He dropped the wolf skin and walked to his bed, naked as the day he was born.

A yellow light flickered into existence above the bed, bathing the chamber in a soft glow.

"I take it that is not an invitation?" a soft voice asked out of nowhere.

"Damn right it's not," he growled, the notion that he could not ravage her hardly improving his mood. He reached for his pants, where they had been discarded at the end of the bed, and then stopped dead in his tracks.

With a shimmer of magic, a slender female form materialized in the middle of the bed, the glow reflecting gold in her long, blonde hair and coloring her smooth skin a rich tawny. Her blue eyes met his, and Thrall felt the fire roar alive under his skin.

"Jaina…" he muttered, and lunged across the bed to embrace her tightly, reveling in the feel of her full curves against his naked skin. She responded in kind, pressing against him in a most enticing manner, running a small hand along his back and nipping at the side of his neck.

It took as supreme an effort as Thrall had ever managed to disentangle from the embrace and gently settle the woman into the skins.

"I have to go, Dagaz," he whispered. "There's been another attack. Go to sleep. I'll be back as soon as possible." Dagaz, the orcish word for dawn, the beginning of a new day. It was his favorite time of day, a time of hope and renewal, a golden time, and he found it a fitting name for the woman who had come to mean all that, and so much more, to him.

"Be careful," she said, watching him dress and grip the Doomhammer that was never far away, with an apprehensive expression Thrall knew all too well.

Once again, reality had encroached upon their little nest, reminding them what they were, and most specifically, what they were _not_. When there had been a knock on the door, Jaina had turned invisible by force of habit, leaving Thrall free to open the door. Just one hint, one suspicion, and all they had worked for would spin out of control. It would strain the Alliance beyond the breaking point, not to mention very possibly cost them their positions of leadership.

"I will," he said simply.

She looked at him with bright eyes, full of love and admiration and ruthless clear-sight.

Coming together during a crisis such as this was risky, and letting Jaina stay in his chambers while he was away was plain reckless, but not to do so was simply unbearable. This was the first time in nearly a month that Jaina had been able to slip out of Theramore, and as he walked to the door, their eyes met in one last, smoldering exchange before the Sorceress extinguished the witch-light and vanished again, even her smell and the sounds of her heartbeat and breathing disappearing to his senses.

Thrall involuntarily flinched. This spell was new; an improvement of her original spell of invisibility, after a chance encounter with Nazgrel's dire wolf had nearly cost her an arm. It rendered her truly undetectable to all five senses, not just the eye, and to Thrall, it was if she ceased existing. He hated the spell, but treasured what it made possible

He tore the door open and stalked into the hallway, cursing the Elements and existence in general.

* * *

It was several hours later when Thrall slowly made his way back to his chambers. His heart was heavy with knowledge and his head was roiling with threats and consequences, half-formulated strategies and the urge to smash something.

He latched the door behind him and rubbed his face. His body felt like lead, and before the scouts were back, nothing more could be done. What he needed right now was Jaina and sleep.

"Dagaz," he whispered, stepping closer to the bed. Nothing. "Dagaz, it's me," he said a bit louder, sitting down on the edge of the bed and carefully patting down the furs.

He let out a breath of relief when he felt the sleek length of her leg.

"Tickles," came the response, in a voice thick with sleep. Suddenly, her presence was all around him, her sweet scent, her light breathing, the gentle rhythm of her heartbeat, and blessed Spirits – her touch on his arm, face, her lips on his.

"You smell of wet dog," she mumbled. He did not reply, only held her closer and began to glide his rough hands down her body with feverish fervor.

"So bad?" she whispered.

He nodded in the darkness.

"There will be war."


End file.
